


Pride

by Aella_Antiope



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Drugged Sex, Friendship, Internal Conflict, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pride is a poor substitute for love and affection. </p><p>If you want warnings please read end notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride

Murata supposed his actions were inevitable. He always tried to be honest with himself. Though he may lie and obfuscate to others often, he actively avoided lying to himself. Self-deception and denial led to pride and faulty logic, which then led to bad decisions. He couldn’t afford self-deception, not when the destiny of a nation, of _nations_ , were in his hands. 

In this once choice he was selfish. It didn’t mean there wasn’t any altruism, if he was the only one to benefit he’d have made no effort. But his selfishness was the motivator, he would never deny that. 

He wanted Wolfram. 

Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld was beautiful, vibrant, and passionate. And all of that, all of who he was, all of his vitality, was withering on the vine with his engagement to Shibuya. Murata knew it was impossible to force love, to force feeling where there wasn’t any. If Shibuya couldn’t see Wolfram as his love six years into the relationship, he doubt he ever could.

Which left Wolfram alone.

Well, there was one thing he could do about it, something he’d been considering for a long while, particularly the last few months. It was a bit of a gamble, a risk, so to speak. Not to the kingdom, not that, he knew how to handle Shibuya in the worst outcome, the kingdom would be fine, the risk was far _far_ more personal. But if there was one thing that Murata knew from his long memories of experience, sometimes it was worth taking risks.

Something told him it was worth the risk when it came to the King’s fiancé. It was true, Murata couldn’t force feelings, but there were ways to...inspire passion. He placed the vial with the clear liquid carefully in front of him.

.·:* *:·.

Wolfram curled up on the bed, burying his face in the soft pillow.

He couldn’t even be angry at Murata. He had no right to be angry. He was just as bad, worse maybe, because Murata’s intentions were to keep him oblivious. If he hadn’t had a tolerance for the potion, he’d not be any wiser. Things would have continued as usual and he’d never be burdened.

Yet Wolfram knew, he _knew_ and he played along anyway, he could have asked Murata to stop, he could have told him that the potion had no effect on him. If Wolfram really cared, _truly_ cared about his virtue and fidelity he would have. He didn’t think Murata would have hurt him if he’d said anything, but even if he thought otherwise, it was simply not a concern. If Wolfram had valued his fidelity more, he’d have fought to the death for it.

Instead, he had played along because it was what he had secretly wanted. He touched his neck, and closed his eyes remembering. It was shameful, he was shameful. He’d knowingly cheated on Yuuri, and knowingly deceived Murata.

Wolfram rolled onto his stomach. He’d wanted it, and it was wrong. So very wrong that he would have this, in this way. He brushed his neck where he’d been kissed. If he’d known, he’d had the courage… he should have…

His hands slid under his nightgown and encircled the erection he’d gotten remembering the way Murata had pleasured him.

He pumped himself slowly, his eyelids drifting shut, feeling so very wicked and bad. Yuuri wouldn’t be back for a few hours, having paperwork to do and he could do this. He could indulge. As he continued to jerk himself off, his body getting closer to the edge, he remembered everything from this afternoon.

For now he knew. He knew the Sage’s touch, and he wanted it again.

.·:* *:·.

Wolfram had enjoyed the afternoon tea with the Sage at the temple. The sweets and cakes were always the type he liked the most, whoever made them at the temple had great skill, and the Sage always had the best tea brews. And the Sage...was interesting.

He’d been coming for tea for almost a year now. It had been at the Sage’s invitation. At first Wolfram had attended out of curiosity and a sense of duty, it wasn’t like he particularly wanted to spend time with the Sage. The other double black had always vaguely annoyed him, something about the way he looked at Wolfram, and the little smirk, had rubbed Wolfram the wrong way. But as the consort of the King, he felt it would be impolite to refuse. And underneath it all was his curiosity. What would the Sage want to talk to about him?

Well, it turned out anything that Wolfram wanted. The Sage seemed intensely interested in Wolfram’s life, and his interests. He was suspicious of that at first, nobody was ever interested in whatever Wolfram had to say, well at least not enough to sit and talk to him about it for a couple of hours, but the Sage seemed very interested. The Sage was widely read, was familiar with history, battle theory and weaponry, and seemed to genuinely enjoy discussions on those topics. Murata understood Wolfram’s frustrations with Court, how the games of diplomacy frustrated him, the fact that nothing was ever quite as it seemed. Too many games, too many lies. Slowly, little by little Wolfram found his guard slipping. He stopped seeing the weekly afternoon teas as a requirement, but as something to look forward to.

“...I thought it would be a disaster, you know how he gets.” And it was nice to have someone else who really got that, as they shared a smile with the Sage. “but in the end Yuuri managed to succeed, I don’t even know how he does it. He practically gave me a heart attack.”

“Shibuya certainly has a way with others,” the Sage agreed sipping his tea. 

“Yes, it’s unorthodox, but...that why I Iove...I respect him.” He felt his face heat up. For all that he had declared his love to Yuuri, he never really spoke much about it to others. 

“Hmm....It’s been about six years now hasn’t it?”

The Sage didn’t really have to specify, but it put Wolfram immediately on the defensive, despite, or maybe because of Murata’s mild tone.

“That’s not unusual, most engagements are far longer.”

“But they aren’t they the ones arranged in childhood by family?”

Wolfram looked away, not knowing what to say. Murata had never brought up sensitive topics before, hadn’t even hinted such things. 

“I apologise, my Lord if that made you uncomfortable, it’s just...no matter.” Murata shook his head.

“It’s just what?” Wolfram asked, knowing he shouldn’t, but the curiosity got the better of him.

“It’s just...you seem a little lonely.” The look that Murata gave him was so excruciatingly kind, and very gently Murata leaned forward and placed a hand on his. It would have been easier if Murata had been mocking him, this gentle concern was like a stab to his chest.

Wolfram swallowed, yanking his hand back, his mouth feeling suddenly bitter and his eyes getting that prickly feeling he knew before he’d start tearing up, and he couldn’t do that, not here.

“Well, I better go,” Wolfram said, glad his voice had kept even. “I have things I must do this afternoon.”

“Of course, I apologise if I was being too forward. I look forward to seeing you next week.”

Wolfram nodded, not trusting his voice, and left.

Wolfram hadn’t been able to go the next week, or for many weeks. Yuuri had got embroiled in another meddlesome conflict in the human territories and this had led them spending a two months wandering around all kinds of unpleasant places. Wolfram had felt both relieved...and strangely disappointed that this wasn’t one that necessitated Murata coming along. He liked Murata’s company, but the last conversation had been very uncomfortable for him, making him feel and think things he’d carefully avoided for a long time.

By the time he got back, the Sage was acting normally, like the last conversation had never happened. It was a very normal, ordinary visit, pleasant again, until he took the first sip of the tea. 

He knew that taste, there was no way he could have forgotten, even as subtle as it was. He coughed violently, shocked.

“Here,” Murata had gotten up and handed him a napkin, one hand on his back rubbing soothingly. “I hope the taste didn’t startle you, it’s a new brew.”

It was at that exact moment Wolfram knew he could have revealed his knowledge, could have called Murata on it. Could have protested. Could have stopped it.

“No, it’s fine.” He looked away. “I was just startled.”

“Do you want me to get you another brew, something ...more conventional?”

“No, it’s fine. Wolfram took another sip, and then another.”

Murata seemed to want to say something more but instead he sat himself down. “Well, I’m glad, I wouldn’t want you to force yourself to please me.”

“As if,” Wolfram sniffed and Murata gave him a small smile which was hard to read.

The brew also had a sedative, a mild one, if he was to judge. It made him relax, making it easier to let things happen easily. He let it take over, the last thing Wolfram wanted to do was think.

“You seem very tired?” Murata said, as Wolfram emptied the cup.

“I am a little.”

“Would you like to take a nap, my bedroom is very cool this time of the afternoon.”

Wolfram shrugged nonchalantly, the sedative making it easier to ignore the nerves. “A nap would be fine.”

When he stood up he almost collapsed, the sedative obviously having a much bigger impact on him than he thought.

There was a hand on his elbow, guiding him. “Come on, you should lie down.”

When they got to the room, Wolfram felt agreeably light headed. It felt good and without even thinking he leaned against Murata. A tiny voice in his head told him this was wrong, but he ignored it. Murata obviously wanted this, why else the brew? Nobody need ever know, Murata didn’t even need to know he _knew_ , that he wanted this, this was the beauty of it. It could all be denied later. Like it never happened.

He inhaled the fabric of Murata’s jacket, it smelt of sweet herbs, soap, and underneath the smell of cologne and skin, very different from Yuuri. It should have bothered him, but he sighed as a hand massaged the nape of his neck and then massaged his scalp. His body ached, was on fire, he wanted more.

“You have soft hair,” Murata murmured and he was pushed back. “I would like to kiss you,” Murata said.

“Then kiss me,” Wolfram said, he sounded petulant to his own ears, demanding. 

Murata paused for a moment, and then leaned forward, his lips against his was soft at first but as Wolfram wrapped his arms around Murata’s shoulders and pushed him in until it became deep. It was very, very good.

Murata pulled back, his eyes were so pretty, black...just like...no, he wouldn’t think of that. 

“I wanted to hold back more the first time, just a few kisses, but I don't think I can control myself,” Murata said. The first time, did that mean Murata wanted him again? It wasn’t just a one-time thing. That realisation made him even more warm.

Murata guided him down onto the bed so they were both sitting on the edge and Wolfram went without protest. 

“Do you do this often?” Wolfram asked. 

“No...you’re the first.”

“The first who you drugged, or the first you’ve been with?” He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell Murata he knew. He never would.

The Sage undressed him slowly, and carefully, all the while he spoke. “Maybe I flatter myself in thinking that perhaps you find me attractive. That this,” Murata brushed his hands down his stomach, it sent electric sparks through him. “Would be something you’d want in other circumstances. I don’t know... “

Wolfram didn’t want to hear him speak anymore, he didn’t want to think about how much he was deceiving the Sage and how much he was deceiving himself, so he pulled him down into a clumsy kiss.

From there it only got hazy, as pleasure filled lethargy took over, as his starving body was touched with gentle fingers, hot lips and tongue. He’d often imagined this, for so long he’d imagined this, even before Yuuri had arrived, with his silly goofy smile he had dreamt and yearned to be touched in this way. But not even in his best dreams had he had realised how good it could be, how raw, and desperate it would make him. How his body would shiver, how his toes would curl, and how he would lose absolute control as Murata licked his way down his navel, and further down to suck on his cock.

It was so good, so wonderful as he came. Afterward, as he floated in bliss allowing Murata to hold him, kiss him, whisper to him how good he was, how beautiful and perfect. 

It wasn’t until after, after he’d bathed at Murata’s insistence, and dressed again, after he’d napped and then left...with an awkward smile, trying to pretend nothing had happened that he’d realised that Murata had not taken any pleasure himself.

The drug that the Sage had given him was a common drug, one of a few that Wolfram had, along with his brothers been given resistance to many years ago through slow and painful exposure over months. Wolfram had learnt to identify the subtle metallic tang. It was a dangerous drug when potent, its effect would make a mazoku highly malleable. It was used to interrogate, and it was used for far more despicable reason, rape. Even worse, it made the user forget everything after they slept. It was, in the world of dangerous court politics, imperative that the children of the Queen’s children not be exploited in such ways, making her vulnerable to blackmail. Royal children needed ways to protect themselves.

So Wolfram was immune to this drug. The worst it could do was make him sleepy, and he suspected that Murata had also given him an extra sedative on top of the potion to help the process along.

He could have resisted, but he hadn’t, and of course he remembered. Wolfram knew that the Sage’s actions were disgraceful, but so was his.

Wolfram would never forget, and Murata would never know that. Perhaps it was better that way because Wolfram didn’t hate him at all, and he should have.

.·:* *:·.

The gamble had worked, much better than Murata had ever imagined.

Murata had half expected Wolfram would protest, would have challenged him to a duel, would have wanted to protect his honour. The other half of him, the hopeful part, had thought the beautiful Lord would play along. 

He knew Wolfram was immune to the drug, it was common practice for young nobles, and he’d even double checked discreetly that Wolfram was so to be _absolutely_ certain. Murata had given Wolfram a fake, a mild sedative with some flavouring to give it the same bitter taste of the nefarious truth potion.

It was as he suspected, Wolfram was lonely, wanted to be loved, wanted to be touched, but was too proud, too loyal to Shibuya and his honour and duty to cheat. Murata had thrown the dice, had gambled, and given Wolfram the excuse, the permission to let himself go. Murata had won.

Wolfram had given himself over to him, wholeheartedly, and if Murata was any judge of character, Wolfram would come again the next week...and again. And again he would give the Lord the same fake dose and he would love him again, for a few hours, and maybe, _just_ maybe it would make Wolfram less sad, and more alive.

If he had to play the hentai, the perverted old Sage to give Wolfram that freedom, then so be it. Better that than Wolfram spending the years and decades ahead in painful celibacy, never knowing the pleasures of the body, alone, unwanted and unused. He had given Wolfram the choice to escape that loneliness, and still keep his pride.

Besides, Murata could pretend a little too. He touched the potion to his lips. Pretend that he was loved as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains sex by deception. If you are sensitive about this, please don't read. If you want more details please comment with a question.


End file.
